


Drip. Drip. Drip.

by PoisonKisses



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-08 23:54:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18905233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoisonKisses/pseuds/PoisonKisses
Summary: Some deaths are justified.





	Drip. Drip. Drip.

**Author's Note:**

> We need more Joker dying fics.
> 
> This is what happens when you strip away the Joker's plot armor.

He was pathetic.

At the end of the day, that's all he was. Beneath contempt.

Oh, he'd tried to fight back. A knife. He'd tried to stab her with a knife. He lost his hand for that.

He'd tried poison--that was even more laughable. The only thing more toxic than her blood on this _planet_ was his army of knuckle-dragging would be followers who screamed, loudly and obnoxiously, that he was somehow deep or interesting--that he had something to say...or his little gaggle of idiot, naive girls who dreamed of their own _Mad Love_ fairytale Bonnie and Clyde style romance. It was appalling to her.

He'd tried acid and that might have worked many years ago, before she'd adapted to her changes. Now, it boiled off her pristine skin in a cloud of fumes, only serving to make her tingle. 

He'd shot her, the bullet failing to penetrate her skin. She'd brushed the hot slug off her chest like something irritating, then she'd snatched the weapon from his hand and crumpled it like paper. 

No one realized she was strong, that hers was the strength of the mightiest Sequoia. She'd slapped him for that, while channeling that strength, contemptuously, and still smirked down at him as he spat out teeth, gasping for air over the jagged remnants of his smile.

He tried to crawl away, all his vaunted insanity and lack of fear a complete lie. There were tears running down his face, and he was blubbering, trying to plead with her, she thought.

It didn't matter. He didn't matter.

He was a sad, pathetic, coward. A bully who had no will to stand up when faced with equal or greater strength. She was dragging him back over to the streetlight, the camera. She wanted all of Gotham to see him for what he really was.

All he was, really. A contemptible, mediocre little white man desperate for attention. He'd found if he dressed as a clown, acted crazy, and killed innocent people, he would get a fear response. He craved that.

But she was Poison Ivy.

She had no fear of clowns, or of sad, attention-seeking, mediocre white men for that matter. He screamed wordlessly when she grew a razor sharp wooden spine from her wrist and pinned him to the street by driving it through his guts.

He was blubbering again.

She looked up at the camera. "This is your idol. This man you've fed with attention for years. He is no revolutionary. He has nothing to say. He's weak. Now he dies like the meat he is."

She stood over him and raked a razor sharp nail over her own palm, sneered down at him as the dark, viscous, acidic ichor welled from the cut. Then she held her hand over his face.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Each droplet was concentrated acid. Each one burned a smoking hole through his face, and he screamed. It was a disturbing, high pitched sound, like a banshee wailing in desperation. No laughter. No jokes.

He tried to hold his hand up in defense, his arm still weeping blood, but the acid just burned through it as well. One drop his eye and that was gone. He thrashed against the spine through is middle. He kicked and screamed and wept.

She grimly let the blood fall.

Drip. 

Drip.

Drip.

He'd murdered a child, a little girl. Slit her throat after cutting the corners of her mouth to 'put a smile on her face.' Batman would have beaten him, thrown him in Arkham.

She got to him first. 

The Joker was dead. Most of his face was eaten away, and she allowed her wound to close. 

Ivy left him there, because in death, as in life, the irrelevant ghoul was beneath her. As she strolled off, she fished her phone out and tapped a number.

"Hiya Red!" Harley's voice was light. She smiled.

"Call Selina and order us a pizza, I think we've earned a Netflix Night."


End file.
